


Though She Be But Little, She Is Fierce

by Halmaithor



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: (and he trusts Clary with them at this point), Alec Lightwood Has Feelings, Canon-Typical Violence, Clary Fray & Alec Lightwood Friendship, Clary Fray & Simon Lewis Friendship, Clary Fray-centric, Family Dynamics, Future Fic, Jace and Clary working it out, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Married Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Multi, Parabatai Clary Fray & Isabelle Lightwood, Parents Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Post-Canon, Supportive Magnus Bane, and by the end of it, this is set over a period of years, to summarise the dynamics:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halmaithor/pseuds/Halmaithor
Summary: ‘Why does everything in this place have to be ten feet off the ground?’ she grumbles, clambering up onto the counter.‘It’s not – hey, get down from there!’ Alec yelps, catching sight of what she’s doing and darting over, his hands raised as if to catch her. ‘You trying to hurt yourself?’In which Clary gets her memories back, gets her family back, and continues to navigate the world as a five-foot-four Shadowhunter.
Relationships: Clary Fray & Alec Lightwood, Clary Fray & Isabelle Lightwood, Clary Fray & Simon Lewis, Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Magnus Bane & Clary Fray, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 213
Collections: Shadowhunters Fic-A-Thon 2020





	Though She Be But Little, She Is Fierce

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, this one goes out to my fellow short people, in particular 'catonthefence', who particularly related to Arthur in my last fic 😄  
> Please enjoy the following fluff, feels, and finding of resourceful solutions. ^^ <3  
> (Title is from Shakespeare's 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'.)

The Mundane woman they’ve just saved has stopped crying, now; but she’s still slumped against the wall of the warehouse, shaking like a leaf. ‘What _was_ that thing?’ she whispers, not for the first time, her bloodshot eyes pleading as they dart between Clary and Jace. ‘Please, I - I have to know.’ She screws her eyes shut, and a few more silent tears fall.

Jace takes a step forward, mouth open; but Clary places her hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. And she feels herself blush at the familiar motion, maybe too familiar, they’re supposed to be taking things slow after their year apart –   
She shakes her head, refocusing. ‘Let me,’ she says quietly. ‘I’ve been her, remember? The Sighted Mundane, who hasn’t got a clue what’s going on and is scared out of her mind?’  
Jace glances over at the terrified woman, then back at Clary. ‘You still haven’t got all your memories back yet,’ he murmurs in protest.   
‘I have enough,’ Clary insists. She gives a half-hearted smirk. ‘Besides, you’re a guy, and you’re nearly six feet tall. Who would you say is the less intimidating Shadowhunter here?’

Jace hesitates for a moment, but then he returns her smile. ‘You have a point, half-pint,’ he teases, and it’s so like _before_ that it makes her heart ache. ‘Alright, go on. I’ll be close by.’   
He disappears around the nearest corner; out of sight, but within earshot, Clary knows.

She puts on her most patient, understanding smile, rounding her shoulders a little and stowing her weapons, and then turns back to the Mundane. Time to make the Shadow World seem like it’s _not_ terrifying as hell. Piece of cake.   
(Or maybe it would be, if she herself didn’t still half-think that it was.)

  
***

  
She fluffs her scarf up as much as she can, wishing she could cover her mouth and nose too but needing at least the former to drink her coffee. ‘I don’t care what the calendar says,’ she declares. ‘It is _not_ springtime. Remind me why a powerful warlock like you insisted that we _walk_ to _Java_ ’s and back?’   
Magnus chuckles, looking annoyingly unbothered by the evening cold. ‘I’m hurt, Biscuit. Are you saying you haven’t been enjoying our conversations _en route?’  
_ And no, Clary’s not saying that. It’s been nice catching up with Magnus, hearing about things she missed while she was away – like how Raphael’s settling into Mundane life, and how far Madzie’s come along with her magic.

Plus, after weeks agonizing over whether she ought to bring up the whole ‘parabatai’ thing with Izzy again, it’s nice to talk to someone other than Jace about it. Because Clary loves her boyfriend, and she’s so glad they’re back on the same page re. _them;_ but the guy hasn’t had full ownership of his soul since he was a _teenager,_ and so he’s not exactly… _objective_ about how big a deal that is. Which, until now, has left Clary with her only possible confidants being Simon (who thinks the whole _soul-altering_ thing is “freaky” and should definitely be avoided) and Luke (who Clary hates bringing this subject up with, because it reminds them both of so much past pain).   
Magnus, however, is easy to confide in, has the wisdom of centuries, and probably understands the parabatai bond better than anyone else who’s never committed to one themselves. His advice has been invaluable.

But at the same time, ‘I probably would have enjoyed it more if we were having the conversation _inside,’_ she grumbles.   
Magnus shakes his head and gives a dramatic sigh. ‘Biscuit, you really ought to toughen up a little. If you think this is cold, you’d never survive a winter in Idris.’   
_How is it going there, by the way?_ she starts to ask, realising that she hasn’t yet. She forgot just how good Magnus is at deflecting, talking about everything under the sun _except_ himself.

But she doesn’t get another word in before Magnus looks up at the sky with a gasp. ‘Well, would you look at that,’ he says, a quiet sort of awe in his voice. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen the moon so big since I was a boy. And it was closer to the Earth back then, too.’   
Clary looks up, but doesn’t see anything over the nearest rooftops. She takes a few steps back, huffing in frustration when it doesn’t work, and then – because she’s never really valued her dignity like she probably should – jumping.   
She almost loses her balance when she finds herself suspended in the air, feeling a thrill of alarm – before catching sight of the blue magic coming from Magnus’ fingertips, and repaying his amused look with a half-hearted, definitely-not-fooling-anyone glare before turning her gaze upwards again. ‘Wow,’ she breathes, genuinely impressed. New York’s generally too light-polluted for much of a sky show, but tonight the moon is full, and almost orange, and _huge._

Magnus hums in agreement, and gently puts her down – and then studies her for a moment. ‘I wonder…’ he murmurs; and before Clary can ask him what exactly he’s wondering, he’s waving his hands in sweeping movements over his own torso, and one dull flash of light later, he’s standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her again.

Her mouth drops open. Because he’s _literally_ shoulder-to-shoulder with her. Because somehow, Magnus has gone from being six feet tall to about five-foot-four.

He gives her a pleased look, taking in his surroundings. ‘This is fascinating,’ he says with a grin. ‘It’s all so _different_ from your perspective.’   
She sputters, not sure whether she ought to be outraged or dissolving into fits of laughter. ‘How are you even doing this?’ she settles for.  
He shrugs nonchalantly. ‘It’s not that difficult. My mass remains constant, and so I simply decrease my volume by increasing my density – it requires focus to maintain, unlike the permanent shrinking of an inanimate object, but the principle is largely the same.’

He links arms with her and sets off walking again. ‘Don’t mind me; let’s continue. Remind me what we were talking about?’   
‘…Idris,’ she says – putting aside the bizarreness of the situation, for now, in favour of both getting out of the cold quicker and being able to ask her earlier question. ‘How are you finding it there?’   
Magnus’ smile softens. ‘It’s actually going… surprisingly well,’ he says. ‘After centuries of the country being almost entirely closed to Downworlders, you can probably understand that I was a little suspicious at being offered a position there.’ He frowns slightly, looking down at his coffee, swirling it around his thermos. ‘There’s never been a High Warlock of Alicante; so, despite attending various meetings designed to give me an ‘overview’, I had no _real_ idea of what it would entail. At best, I half-expected it to be a figurehead position – an empty role, designed to appease the Downworld without actually changing the status quo, but a role that I could perhaps use to my advantage if I were clever enough. The more cynical part of me even suspected that the whole thing might be nothing more than a political ploy – specifically, an incentive for Alec to accept the position as Inquisitor, after his previous refusal to leave New York.’   
‘I mean, I get why you’d think that,’ Clary admits. ‘But you say it’s going well?’   
Magnus nods, looking back up, smile back in place. ‘Indeed it is,’ he says. ‘Despite my reservations, I’m glad I took the chance. The Clave – for perhaps the first time in my very long life – have surpassed my expectations, and have actually managed to clear the chronically low bar set by their precedent. There’s some resistance, of course; but it would seem that enough Shadowhunters want change, now, that we’re actually taking steps in the right direction, rather than simply pointing that way and calling it a job well done.’ He chuckles. ‘Actually, I’ve found myself with some surprising allies. Ambassador Branwell, for one.’

 _Branwell?_ Clary frowns, wracking her brain – and then her eyebrows shoot up as she realises where she remembers that name from. _‘Lydia_ Branwell?! As in, the woman whose wedding you crashed and whose fiancé you stole?’  
Magnus holds up his pointer finger in protest. ‘I will admit to the fiancé theft,’ he says, smirking, ‘but I did _not_ crash that wedding. Isabelle invited me.’   
Clary rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. ‘Why am I not surprised that Izzy had a hand in that spectacle?’ She unlinks their elbows as they walk, tucking her hands into her pockets, the right one contorting around the now-empty coffee cup. ‘So, Lydia’s not one to hold a grudge, then?’  
‘Apparently not,’ Magnus says with a shrug. ‘She’s been an incredibly helpful ally – dare I say, even a _friend –_ during my first few months in this position. Especially considering how I derailed _her_ career plans.’   
‘Well, good,’ Clary says. ‘After all, she’s clearly doing okay for herself. Even though she didn’t get the whole _loveless-marriage-and-Head-of-the-Institute_ combo gig she wanted here.’

Magnus shoots her a look that clearly means _behave._ Like he’s one to talk. ‘You have a point.’ He looks a little faraway for a moment. ‘She seems happy,’ he murmurs.   
‘…And you?’ Clary prompts. ‘Are you happy?’

Magnus turns back to her – and maybe this shrinking spell is a little ridiculous, but right now she’s glad of it. Because it means that Magnus can look her right in the eye, and when he softly says, ‘I am,’ she knows that he means it.

  
***

  
‘Shit!’ yells Clary – another Kuri demon is skittering towards her, and her left hand swings out to plunge the dagger into its core. These guys are relatively small, but _fast,_ and seem smart enough to wait for an opening before attacking. She has no idea how anyone who wasn’t dual-wielding would fight them.

She dispatches another three in quick succession, risking a glance over her shoulder at Izzy. Unsurprisingly, Izzy is a blur of movement, expertly changing between her staff and her whip, breathing hard as her heartbeat thumps alongside Clary’s own.   
Clary turns back to her position, and goes on the offensive.

  
What can only be minutes later, the area around her is clear. She turns back to Izzy, and sees her standing at the other end of the alleyway with a smile – somehow still looking glamorous, despite her dishevelment, and seeming altogether out-of-place next to the barricade of fly-tipped old furniture and the piles of demon ash.

‘Not bad for our first patrol,’ Izzy says.   
Clary raises an eyebrow. ‘We went on patrol two weeks ago,’ she points out.   
But Izzy just beams at her. ‘Not as parabatai.’ She takes a step forward – and immediately hisses in pain, her left knee buckling.   
‘Iz?’ Clary darts over to her, catching sight of the gash down her calf muscle and wincing in sympathy. Luckily, it looks like a fairly harmless scratch, rather than a venomous bite. ‘Jeez. Here, give me your arm.’

Izzy complies immediately, and Clary deftly sketches out the iratze rune – gasping in a surprised breath at the exact moment Izzy does, the rune flaring to life.   
‘Holy shit,’ Izzy says with a smile. ‘I knew it’d be more effective, but…’  
‘Yeah,’ Clary agrees, as the sudden rush of energy subsides a little. She thinks she called the parabatai bond _intimate,_ once – but _intense_ is probably a better word for it, at least so far. If she didn’t trust Izzy so implicitly, it’d probably be terrifying.

There’s a noise behind them, and they startle, dropping back into a battle stance – but the last remaining Kuri demon doesn’t make for them. Instead, it darts for the haphazard barricade, and scuttles through a narrow tunnel at the base.

‘Shit!’ Izzy hisses, looking the barricade up and down. ‘It’s way too unstable to climb. We’ll have to go round.’   
But Clary looks at the tunnel the demon used, and makes a split-second decision. ‘Meet me round there,’ she says, and then she’s running for the barricade, diving down to wriggle through.   
‘Clary-!’ _  
_She feels a faint thrum of Izzy’s fear through the new bond, blocking it out as best she can. The gap is tiny, and she knows Izzy won’t be able to follow her – she’s not really that much _taller_ than Clary, but she’s broader and more muscular with it – but they don’t have a moment to lose, because that demon is _fast_ and it’s heading for a much more populated area than the alley they thought they had them cornered in.

She emerges on the other side quickly, the barricade itself only a few feet thick, and then leaps up to her feet, warily glancing around her. It’s already hidden from them once -   
It comes from above a moment later, and Clary yells out in surprise as she brings her daggers up to skewer it, its fangs dissolving away mere inches from her face.

This time, it’s not a moment of fear, but a flash of Izzy’s raw panic that she feels.   
_I’m okay,_ she thinks, willing Izzy to feel it as she starts walking to meet her partway. She doesn’t know if it succeeds, unsure if it’s Izzy’s adrenaline comedown or her own that she’s feeling.

A couple of minutes later, Izzy appears, rounding the last corner up ahead and slowing from her all-out sprint into a jog. Her relief washes through Clary, and it’s oddly like the feeling of diving into a swimming pool.   
Clary smiles. ‘I got it,’ she says, once they’re close enough to talk.   
But Isabelle doesn’t say anything – at least, not until she’s close enough to smack Clary on the arm.  
‘Ow!’ Clary protests, though it didn’t really hurt so much as surprise her. ‘What was that for?’

Izzy glares at her. ‘Clarissa Adele Fairchild, what were you _thinking?’_ she demands.   
Clary frowns. ‘I was _thinking_ we had to catch up to that demon before it hurt someone. Which I did.’  
‘We’re supposed to watch each other’s backs,’ Izzy almost growls. ‘What if it had bitten you when you were still halfway-stuck in that furniture? Or what if you’d managed to bring the structure down on top of you?’

Clary opens her mouth to argue, embarrassment that she hadn’t thought of those possibilities fuelling her own irritation – but then she snaps it shut, turning away and taking a deep breath. _Fuck._ It’s way too easy for them to get riled up like this, feeding off each other’s anger as well as losing grip on their own. Jace and Alec entered into this as hormonal teenagers, and she’s starting to wonder how the fuck they made it to adulthood without killing each other. _Maybe that’s what the ‘hurts if they die’ failsafe is_ actually _for,_ she thinks a little hysterically.   
She sits down, leaning against the wall, and doesn’t say another word.

Eventually, Izzy calms down a little, too, and sits beside her.

‘I’m sorry,’ Clary offers, now that they’re both level-headed again. ‘The demon came from my side of the alley. It was my responsibility. I couldn’t let it get away and hurt someone, so when I saw my chance, I took it.’ She glances over at Izzy with a rueful smile. ‘But I should have thought it through better, and I’m sorry.’

Izzy sighs, leaning against Clary’s shoulder. ‘I get it. I do. But it’s not _your side_ anymore, okay?’ She stares seriously at Clary. ‘We’re parabatai now. Responsibility, and blame, and glory – they’re all shared, because we’re a unit. We’re a _team.’_ She smiles, but it’s a little shaky. ‘And I shouldn’t have blown up at you, but I didn’t have eyes on you and then I heard you scream, and…’   
Clary can fill in the rest, remembering the spike of Izzy’s panic. She nods, because it would feel reductive to say _I’m sorry_ yet again.

From the way Izzy throws an arm over her shoulders a moment later, she figures she was understood anyway.   
  


***

  
‘Fray?’ Simon’s voice comes from the front door.   
‘Kitchen!’ she calls back. She pours out the milkshakes into two tall glasses, stirring Simon’s as she goes so that the blood distributes evenly. The glasses are maybe a little fancy for the occasion – they’re part of a larger set, a wedding present from Luke and Maryse – but she and Simon haven’t had the chance for a movie night in months, and she wants it to be special.   
‘I _know_ you’re in the kitchen,’ Simon continues as he enters. ‘I could hear the –‘

His voice cuts off, and she looks around to see him staring in surprise at her – or, more accurately, the huge dog at her feet. ‘Holy shit,’ he blurts out. ‘That’s _huge.’_  
She frowns at him. ‘I told you Jace and I are dog-sitting at the moment. I thought you liked dogs?’   
‘I _do_ like dogs, but I was expecting – I don’t know, a pug or something?’ he says, not taking his eyes off the dog as he puts the pizza down on the kitchen table. ‘Not a frickin’ _wolf.’_

The _wolf_ in question – an admittedly huge Malamute called Bertie, belonging to their Mundane next-door neighbours – gets to his feet, ambling over to sniff Simon curiously, his tail wagging. Simon, for his part, stays perfectly still, an ever-growing look of alarm on his face.   
‘Bertie won’t hurt you,’ Clary says, ‘but I can put him outside if you want.’   
‘No,’ Simon insists, stubbornness mixing curiously with the slight fear still on his face. ‘Hey, Bertie,’ he almost-whispers, reaching the back of his hand out for the dog to sniff. ‘Nice dog. You wouldn’t bite your old pal Simon, would you?’  
In response, Bertie licks the back of Simon’s hand, before turning his slightly-gray muzzle up towards the table, sniffing out the pizza.

‘None of that,’ Clary reprimands. ‘Bertie, out.’   
She points towards the lounge, and Bertie obligingly trudges in that direction.   
Simon shakes his head in disbelief, helping Clary gather the food and drinks and carry them through. ‘I’m amazed he listens to you.’   
_‘Thanks,’_ she drawls.   
‘No, not like that,’ he says hurriedly. ‘I just mean, why does he think you’re in charge? Does he not know that he’s the biggest one here?’

Clary laughs. ‘He’s not bigger than you, Si. He’s not even bigger than me – here, I’ll prove it.’ She puts down the plates, bowls and popcorn, walking over to where the dog has settled on the folded blanket Jace laid out for him in here. ‘Bertie, up-up!’ she says brightly, and Bertie gets to his feet again, before launching up and putting his front paws on her shoulders. She laughs, scruffing him around the neck and looking over her shoulder at a jaw-dropped Simon. ‘See? He’s not so big. Nothing to be scared of.’

‘Oh yeah, sure,’ Simon mutters, taking a seat as Clary gently helps Bertie down. ‘Nothing to be scared of. I mean, he’s huge, and probably faster than you, and look at the teeth on him, but – sure.’  
Clary drops into the seat beside him, fixing him with an incredulous stare and waiting for him to realize what he’s just said.   
‘What?’ he asks.   
‘Simon,’ she says patiently. Bigger than her, faster than her, _look at the teeth on him –_

She sees the moment he gets it, his eyes wide. ‘That is _not_ the same thing,’ he protests.   
Clary just laughs, grabbing the remote and scrolling through the available movies until she finds _The Winter Soldier._ ‘So you’re saying I should be _more_ scared of dogs than vampires?’   
‘Shut up and start the movie, Fray,’ he grumbles.

  
***

  
Clary hasn’t even raised her hand to knock when the door is wrenched open. ‘Thank god you’re here,’ Alec says.   
‘How did you-‘  
‘Wards,’ he says, barely stopping to close the door before he’s practically dragging her to the kitchen.   
‘What, so Magnus basically put caller ID on your apartment?’   
‘If I laugh at your jokes and tell you you’re my favorite family member, does that mean you’ll help me?’   
‘Jesus, you _must_ be desperate,’ she says. ‘What’s this about?’ She hadn’t stopped to ask when she got his text, just came straight to Alicante through the now-permanent portal on the New York Institute’s top floor. _Technically,_ it’s not for ‘personal use’, but between Jace and Izzy she’s now got enough family connections that people don’t tend to ask her too many questions when she makes a request. It’s not her favorite thing about the Shadow World, that kind of family elitism, but it has its uses.

Alec doesn’t look back at her, instead furiously stirring the minced beef he apparently left browning while he went to answer the door. ‘You know how we were asking around in Buenos Aires, seeing if anyone still had a record of Rafe’s actual date of birth? Well, someone finally got back to us. Turns out, he’s nine _today,_ and I only found out an hour ago, and Magnus is with Max in the Spiral Labyrinth today so I can’t get ahold of him until _after_ he gets back with the boys-‘  
‘Alec,’ she interrupts, risking laying a hand on his arm. ‘Breathe. Tell me what you need.’   
He does as she says, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment before he looks back at her. ‘I need you on cake duty,’ he says. ‘The recipe’s already bookmarked in the red cookbook over there, I just can’t get it done at the same time as the lasagne.’

She nods. ‘Alright. I’m on it.’   
He sighs, and looks at her with unparalleled gratitude. (Or what would probably be ‘unparalleled’ if their lives weren’t crazy as fuck, and she hadn’t literally had to pull Izzy out of a burning building a couple years ago.) ‘Thank you,’ he says, and points over to the pantry. ‘Everything you need should be in there.’

She heads into the pantry, and quickly finds most of what she needs. The flour, however, is nowhere to be seen – that is, until she looks up. Her eyes widen. What the fuck is even the _point_ of a shelf that high?  
The answer is immediately obvious, of course. Only two people are supposed to be able to reach it, and one of them is six-foot-three while the other is literally magic.

She places a foot on the lowest shelf, testing it for strength before properly starting to climb. A few shelves later, she’s in reach of the flour, and tugs it towards her – ducking out of the way as a packet of pasta, hidden until now from her vantage point, crashes onto the ground with a high-pitched scattering against the flagstones.   
_‘Clary?’_ Alec’s voice echoes from the kitchen, a little concerned.   
She hops down. ‘I’m good,’ she calls back. She ignores the pasta for now, prioritising gathering the ingredients and heading back out to the kitchen.

She measures everything out, and then turns back to Alec. ‘Stand mixer?’  
‘Cupboard just above you.’  
She opens the cupboard – and groans, seeing the mixer on the very top shelf. ‘Why does everything in this place have to be ten feet off the ground?’ she grumbles, clambering up onto the counter.   
‘It’s not – hey, get down from there!’ Alec yelps, catching sight of what she’s doing and darting over, his hands raised as if to catch her. ‘You trying to hurt yourself?’  
Clary rolls her eyes, waving him away. ‘I’m _fine,_ I do this all the time. Go stir your tomatoes.’   
Alec frowns at her; but he relents, turning back to the stove. ‘Fine, but if you fall and break your neck, I’m telling Jace and Izzy that I tried to stop you. I’m not taking any of the blame,’ he warns.

She huffs indignantly. Sure, none of them are as young as they used to be, but she can handle a little countertop climb.   
Seconds later, she’s back on solid ground, holding the stand mixer aloft in triumph. ‘Told you,’ she can’t resist saying, and she’s pretty sure that it’s only her helpfulness today that stops Alec’s scathing retort.

  
She _very_ carefully folds in the flour, a tiny dash at a time, so the mix doesn’t curdle. ‘Lasagne and red velvet cake,’ she muses. ‘You’re not exactly making this last-minute meal prep easy on yourself.’   
Alec’s quiet for a moment. ‘They’re his favourites,’ he says. ‘And – I don’t know. It’s his first birthday with us, and I want it to be perfect.’   
She smiles gently, even though Alec is staring determinedly down at the beginnings of bechamel sauce as he steeps the clove-studded onion. ‘You only found out today,’ she says softly. ‘I’m sure he would understand, if it turns out you didn’t have time to pull everything together the way you want to.’  
‘He shouldn’t _have_ to understand,’ Alec insists. ‘For god’s sake, he’s ei– _nine_ years old. He should be able to take it for granted, all of it – that of _course_ we’re gonna bake him a cake for his birthday, or that we _want_ him to wake us up if he has a nightmare, or hell, even just the fact that he can _stay-‘  
_ He breaks off, his voice turning a little strangled towards the end, his breathing heavy.

Clary puts down the flour, and walks over to him, loosely wrapping her arms around his waist.

He swallows. ‘I think part of him still thinks this is temporary,’ he says, his voice low and a little rough. ‘And if I can do anything to convince him otherwise, I want to. Even if that’s just… just this.’ He gestures vaguely in front of them. ‘Making something he particularly likes, because it’s his birthday, and because he’s worth it to us. Because we love him.’   
Clary nods, squeezing momentarily before she lets go. ‘Then I guess I’d better get on with the cake,’ she says, and she turns back to do just that.

  
The butter-and-powdered-sugar combination is almost fully mixed, now, and she turns up the speed on the mixer. ‘Alec, can I ask you something?’   
‘You just did,’ he points out, not looking away from what he’s doing – which is probably a smart move, because what he’s doing is chopping up freshly washed salad with an incredibly sharp knife.   
Clary rolls her eyes. ‘Hilarious. But what I actually wanted to ask is – why me? I’m happy to help, but I’m just wondering if at some point, I’ve earned myself some undeserved reputation as a baking expert.’ At that moment, as if to emphasise how ridiculous that would be, a stray pocket of powdered sugar puffs out of the bowl and nearly hits her in the eye.   
Alec chuckles. ‘No, it’s not that. But on the list of people I can count on for something like this, Magnus is unreachable, Jace is on a three-day mission, and Izzy… well. Only half this household’s immune to food poisoning, _not_ including the birthday boy.’ They laugh, and Alec glances over at her. ‘So all of that means you’re it, Fairchild.’   
She scowls heatlessly at him. ‘Hey, come on. I correct people when they fuck up _your_ surname.’   
‘Yeah, because most of the time they’re homophobes; and I only took on _one_ extra syllable instead of _three,_ _Fairchild-Herondale.’_   
‘Look, we’ve been over this. We have the _exact same number_ of syllables, _Alexander Gideon.’_

Sometime amidst the bickering, Clary realises that she has no idea exactly when she went from being Alec Lightwood’s least-favourite person – well. Except Simon, perhaps – to being fourth on his call list in case of a personal emergency.   
Then again, she doesn’t remember exactly when he made it onto her list, either.

  
They step back from the counter, gazing at their creations. ‘Holy shit. We actually did it,’ Clary says.   
Alec grins. ‘Yeah, and with – ‘ he checks his phone – ‘a whole twelve minutes to spare.’ He looks back at her, sincere. ‘Thank you. I couldn’t have gotten it finished on my own.’   
‘You’re welcome,’ she says, returning his smile. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better get out of here-‘  
‘You sure?’ he interrupts. ‘You’re welcome to stay for dinner. Especially since you helped make it.’   
‘No, I ought to get back,’ she says, a little ruefully. ‘I’m still on New York time, and I have an early training session to run tomorrow morning. Thanks, though.’

‘Okay, if you’re sure.’ He walks her over to the door, and pulls her in for a one-armed hug. ‘Thank you,’ he says again, dropping a kiss on the top of her head – the same way he does with Izzy; or, at this point, she realises, pretty much any loved one he’s significantly taller than.   
‘Anytime.’ She pulls back, clapping him on the arm before she starts to walk away. ‘Say happy birthday to Rafe for me,’ she calls back over her shoulder.   
He nods, smiling as he closes the door.

  
She’s aware that she must make quite a picture as she heads back to the Gard. She strolls into the portal room with red food dye down her sleeve, and powdered sugar in her hair, and a big sappy smile on her face.

She’s also far, _far_ too happy to care.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! All of these scenarios - bar the demon hunt - were based on my real-life experiences as a short person, and the reactions of those around me, lol. Please do let me know what you thought! <3 
> 
> [Find me on tumblr: silver-latin-and-salt :)](https://silver-latin-and-salt.tumblr.com/)


End file.
